


But what is death, really?

by imjusttrashignoreme



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Ghost TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), How Do I Tag, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Soulmates, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Suicide, Toby Smith | Tubbo Needs a Hug, Vengeful Spirit Innit, Vengeful Spirit TommyInnit, Villain Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), i see your ghost and villain innit and raise you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:55:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28459371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imjusttrashignoreme/pseuds/imjusttrashignoreme
Summary: The worst thing about it? He had understood Wilbur, understood the feeling of wanting to destroy it all, leave his land burning, flames cleaning it of the blood, sins and sorrow it was drenched in.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 282





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't seen this done yet and thought it was a cool concept

He stood at the edge.

Tommy has stood on plenty of edges before, each with their own implications, each in different contexts. None of the contexts had been any good as of late. He couldn’t remember the last time it did. He couldn’t remember a lot of things.

_“it’s not your time to die yet, Tommy”_

The boy knew he was fucked up. His mind a mess in every way, not a single clear thought in sight, but he also knew it had been like this long before his exile. Long before the explosion, before Pogtopia.

Maybe he went crazy at the same time Wilbur did. None of his family members were exactly “good” people. Maybe insanity just ran in their blood one way or another.

The worst thing about it? He had understood Wilbur, understood the feeling of wanting to destroy it all, leave his land burning, flames cleaning it of the blood, sins and sorrow it was drenched in.

Even now, bundled up in his brothers old coat, burned and ripped, yet the only thing keeping him warm on cold nights, he understood. Could relate. He denied this longing in his gut for long enough, held it secret from anyone, his best friend, his father, either of his brothers and even Dream. Especially Dream.

It didn’t matter anymore, he had no one left, he didn’t need to hide it.

He was alone.

Did that make him the bad guy? More often than not, it was Wilbur’s words that left him with insomnia, than anything else.

And so, now, he stood at the edge. The wind whipped around him, freezing, sharp as the sword in the masked warriors hands had been, the complete opposite of the hellish landscape and smoldering heat he was used to anytime he came close to the same thought pattern he had now.

Tommy had thought a lot, about his death and its implications and what might follow. He had thought a lot, about how he might go out. Somewhere in the back of his head he was angry that this would be it. No epic battle, no fight, no grand revolution and all on his own.

Although another part of him felt relieved. No more pain, and he’d get to die on his own terms. Not on someone else’s. Not on Dreams. In fact, there was a sick sense of satisfaction, knowing that even this last act of his, would be one of rebellion against the ruler of the smp, one last stand, just to royally piss him off, just to make sure Dream realized Tommy would never be his to control.

Tommy laughed. He laughed so hard, like he hasn’t in weeks. He full on cackled, even wheezed until he had to gasp for air. He was happy. This would be it. His last fight almost over and he’d _win._

Was this the feeling Wilbur had talked about before he died? That there were no winners, no Pogtopia won, no Manburg won, just him. He was the winner. Wilbur had been the only victor then.

Tommy would be the only victor now.

“Good things don’t happen to heroes.” Technoblade had told him, back then. The blood god was right, except there were no heroes in this world, and even if there were, it definitely wasn’t him, never had been, couldn’t be, because, to the boy, this would be a good thing. Maybe, the only good thing to ever happen to him.

Tommy had stood on plenty of edges before. Hot and burning ones, cold and lonely ones, wet and suffocating ones. This one wasn’t like any of those.

It was relieving, his portal to freedom, to victory over them all, his way to pay them back for what they’d done, to take revenge on those who claimed to be his friends, and to spite his enemies and never giving them the chance to kill him themselves!

And he took a step forward, smiling as he did, falling into the still burning ruins of Lostedshire, his home away from home, which his brother, whom he felt more of a kinship with than he would ever admit, had built for him just so he wouldn’t be alone.

And he clutched the compass around his neck, always pointing in the same direction, pointing towards Tubbo, and he held it so hard like a safety line, as he smiled and cried, and if there was a sting of regret in his heart no one would ever know.

So he held it, he held it and he laughed and he cried for all the times he wanted to but couldn’t, for all the times he’d been numb.

He was smiling as the world whizzed past him, he smiled when his bones cracked and broke and shattered and he smiled when finally, everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is how he stays, most nights, every night, alone, with the compass and his haunting remorse, a heartache so strong he thought it might kill him.

In L’manburg the night was quiet, as most nights were. Peaceful almost, something the nation rarely got to experience previously, but, ever since the ex-vice-presidents’ unfortunate exile, there hadn’t been any more conflicts between the country and other nations.

And, begrudgingly, the citizens had to acknowledge and recognize this as fact. All of them were bitter and upset to some degree, about what had transpired a few weeks ago, an open wound on their minds that may have started to heal for some already, not because they were moving on, at least they didn’t intend to, but, aside from promising not to forget their friend, there was little they could do. They were powerless, when faced against the will and whims of the masked god, and he had been clear in his passive, yet aggressive instructions not to visit Tommy, despite the boys repeated tries of reaching out.

Tries and attempts most of them never got to know about, simply because Dream made sure of it. But no one truly suspected anything, except perhaps one Enderman- hybrid who had so far ignored any of Dreams warnings as much as it was possible for him without losing a life.

And so, most moved on with their lives, moved away from L’manburg until something new would develop.

L’manburg was a dying nation, it meant little to anyone anymore, too many bad memories, too little good ones, overshadowed by obsidian walls that, while not standing anymore, still corrupted any sense of hope in people’s hearts.

The young president had to watch it unfold, was forced to see the country he had given up everything for, had sacrificed his friendship for, wilt before his eyes like a flower stuck in a vase, pretty as long as one is interested, but with an ultimately short lifetime.

He never wanted this power, had never asked for it, it was just given to him and he had tried his best as a ruler, but, dammit, he was just a child. He didn’t hold all the answers and he made mistakes, would admit exiling Tommy was one of his worst ones definitely, but there wasn’t much he could do about it, now.

And nobody would see it, see the regret weighing him down every day, instead they repeatedly remind him of every single thing he did wrong, even if every mention of his best friend stung, hurt worse than the fireworks and the scars which marred his once smooth skin, forever disfigured, forever present.

Eventually their icy tones and biting comments mellowed out into content and civility as the other members of the cabinet moved on to other thigs, Fundy creating his own nation far away from anything and Quackity turning his focus to El Rapids.

The only sympathetic parties near had been Ranboo and Dream. They were Tubbo’s only solace in his despair, the only ones to offer any sort of comfort, even if in vastly different ways each.

Ranboo didn’t like Dream very much, for reasons Tubbo might never now, but he could safely assume, since Ranboo was new on the smp and the confrontations he has had with its ruler were anything, but positive, he saw Dream in a much more negative light than one might would otherwise.

Not saying it wasn’t justified, but, subconsciously, Tubbo tended to ignore or downplay the things Dream had done, since he had been one of the few people to ever genuinely show him respect.

Ranboo suspected it was just another way Dream manipulated the young president. He never said it out loud, but he did his best to keep Tubbo’s common sense alive. It just got harder and harder with each person who left the boy’s side.

He often tried to get Tubbo to go and visit Tommy, told him how much the other longed to see him, needed to see him, and Tubbo couldn’t help but doubt it every time.

He knew the other boy to be incredibly temperamental and unforgiving to people who had wronged him, knew Tommy was capable of holding a grudge for weeks, months, forever, really, if it came down to it. Surely, he harbored nothing but hatred towards him. There was no way he didn’t.

And it would make things easier. Tuboo was scared, terrified to see his best friend again, and it would make hating himself so much easier, if Tommy hated him, too. He didn’t know what to do, if Ranboo spoke the truth.

Believing in Dream’s words was easier. His words of encouragement didn’t hurt any less than his cabinets words of distain, but it was a better comfort. Even if he himself disagreed, at least one person thought he was doing his best. Whether it was a lie didn’t matter.

And yet, he spent most nights curled up on the floor next to his bed, the comfort of sheets feeling wrong on his skin somehow, undeserving, holding tight onto the compass, given to him by Ghostbur, reading the words _“your Tommy”_ over and over again, observing the needle spinning quietly, always returning to point into the same direction every time. His only reassurance.

This is how he stays, most nights, every night, alone, with the compass and his haunting remorse, a heartache so strong he thought it might kill him.

And maybe it should, he thinks sometimes. But he stops himself every time he does. He can’t do that. Can’t think that. Because yeah, he’s scared and he’s lonely, but he has to stay alive for Tommy, even if the other hates him. At the end of the day, on some level they’re still soulmates, two halves of a whole, and while he has broken this bond for now, he knows it won’t stay that way.

One day they’ll be back together.

One day he’ll get Tommy back.

A loud cracking sound echoes off the walls. Tubbo sits still. Frozen.

In L’manburg the night was quiet, as most nights were. Silent and haunting to the president, a far cry from its former glory. Not only were the nights quiet, no, they were dead silent.

And the crack rang through the quiet, deafening in Tubbos ears.

His heart stopped in its tracks before returning to beating at full force as he looked down to where the sound had come from.

His Compass.

The glass was shattered in its casing, despite no outside force touching it, but worst of all _the needle had stopped spinning._

Tubbo’s blood ran cold. His mind blank, trying to understand what it meant, what was happening.

Something was wrong with Tommy. It was the only thought in his mind and he felt sick at it, but that same sickness spiraled him into a panic, he immediately got up, no thoughts spared to the cold outside, as he ran through L’manburg barefoot and with nothing to protect him from the harsh winter wind.

He just ran and ran as fast as his legs could carry him to the nether portal next to the community house, adrenaline shooting through his veins, keeping him ignorant of the pain in his body.

Once he reached the portal his lungs were burning as if set on fire and it was about to get worse upon entering the hellish land. He didn’t care much for the extreme change in temperature, didn’t let it stop him as he hurried down the way he knew Tommy’s portal back to the overworld to be. To the island he had banished him to.

Tubbo didn’t falter when balancing over the half burned wooden part of the bridge because _something happened to Tommy_ and nothing would stop him from helping his friend.

His feet were burning as they hit the stone path, the occasional obsidian block being the only things to cool it down sometimes, but, god, his body was in so much pain and there was no way there wouldn’t be a few bruises left behind, but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, none of it mattered, what mattered was _Tommy._

“TOMMY!” he screamed as loud as his vocal cords would allow, the second he fell through the portal. The sight before him made him falter, stopped him in his tracks, it frightened him to his core.

There were huge craters littered around the land, and it was so much like L’manburg, too much like L’manburg, and Tubbos breathing became harder, faster, the winter cold not being the thing that made him shake.

“Tommy?” he took a tentative step forward, hissing when he stepped on a piece of debris. “TOMMY?” he yelled again and was once more greeted with silence.

Tubbo got closer to the biggest crater where Logstedshire once stood, the wreckage unrepairable, maybe even worse than L’manburg.

“Tommy, please come out! This isn’t funny!” he tried again, and he really wished his voice didn’t shake so much, but he was very scared, and he needed Tommy with him. Tommy was the brave one out of them, the sure one, who wouldn’t let anything ever intimidate him, while Tubbo had always been the coward who needed his counterpart to function best.

He looked around the ruins, but saw nothing resembling the other boy. For a second, he was relieved, until he realized there was a chance that, whatever happened to Logstedshire, could have killed Tommy with it. He reached for his communicator to look if there had been a death message, but he had left the damn thing at his house.

Dread settled under Tubbo’s skin, as he caught sight of a strange tower out of the corner of his eye, a tower that went high above the clouds. A death pillar.

Panic returned quickly as he hurried towards it, tunnel vision preventing him from seeing the heavy log in front of him. He fell over and tumbled a few meters away.

Tubbo was dizzy, his head hurt not just from the fall but from the rush of adrenaline he was coming down from.

He curled in on himself, realization slowly seeping in. He didn’t need to see a death message, didn’t need to see any left over remains or anything to know what had happened. To know what Tommy did. _What he had driven Tommy to do._

And Tubbo cried. He screamed, feeling nothing but agony and aguish, the guilt heavy in his heart, the compass burning in his hands. He had done this, he was responsible, he killed his best friend.

The grief wrecked him as it all came crashing down around him, so cold, so sharp, so very unforgiving.

Distracted by his own misery, he failed to notice the soft glow emanating from a figure quietly sitting underneath the pillar. When it noticed the suffering boy who was losing himself in his sobs, it carefully moved towards him, curious about the strange feeling it had upon seeing him.

The figure opened its mouth to speak, although it was difficult, it didn’t know it could speak, and when it did, the voice came out distorted and rough from lack of use.

“W-Who aRe Y-You?” it croaked out the question. Tubbos head snapped up, so shocked at hearing anyone else, it made the ghost flinch back at the sudden movement.

Tubbo just stared, face blank as he took in the ghostly form floating in front of him, confirming all his fears.

There he stood, or hovered, just a few centimeters above ground, Tommy, in ripped clothes that had been hardly wearable anymore, a dirty coat, burned at the edges, a coat he knew all too well, and a compass hanging around his neck, glass still intact.

Tommy was crying, too. It didn’t seem like the ghost noticed but the tears endlessly flowing down his cheeks spoke for themselves.

It made Tubbo only cry harder himself.

“Tommy?” his voice so quiet, barely a whisper. The ghost only raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Tommm-my?” The name didn’t sound right to him. “N-No, tha- that’s not rIgHt. nOt your- your nammmme.” the distorted speech continued and showed no sign of improving just yet.

Tubbo stood up, his legs wobbly and weak.

“Tommy, do you not remember me?” he was scared and would love to pretend he wasn’t seeing what he was seeing, that none of this was real, that it was just a nightmare his tired mind conjured up, but deep down he knew it wasn’t, knew it was real, knew that Tommy was-

He reached out to the ghost, trying to touch him, but he moved away, now frowning.

The strange feeling got stronger and stronger the longer he looked at this boy he couldn’t remember, but set something off deep within him. He held his head as the confusion in him grew and the feeling overwhelmed him.

It was scorching and burned as wild as a forest fire, flames licking at his heart, tender but without kindness, just hot and seething.

He started floating higher from the ground, Tubbo helplessly looking up at him, as the wind around them picked up speed, turning into a full-blown storm when rain began falling from the sky, whipping at his face, and it hurt, but many things had hurt him tonight and at this point he was just worried, worried, because Tommy’s soft glow turned an angry red.

“y-y-youu, yOu, yOU, **_YOU!”_**

Tommy’s face was furious, a growl escaping him, glaring at a fearful Tubbo with so much rage in his eyes, more than Tubbo had ever seen the blonde with.

Tubbo didn’t say anything, he just stared.

Tommy was shaking and the sea crashed against the shore, thunder and lighting now grazed the sky, the storm getting worse the angrier the ghost got.

**_“L E A V E”_ **

Tommy was so enraged, so filled with hatred, it broke Tubbo’s heart, but he did as he was told and ran as fast as he could back through the portal.

Only when the unfamiliar boy finally vanished from Tommy’s line of sight, did the storm die down. The ghost calmed, too, even though he was shaken. He didn’t know what made him so angry. He didn’t know the boy, but he also didn’t know himself, so who’s to say what any of it meant.

All he knew was he felt the need to _destroy_ , his wrath endless only moments ago.

Now he was okay again, numb and emotionless. He sat back down on his previous spot next to the pillar, closed his eyes and time stopped existing.

The ghost waited. He didn’t know what for, but he did, patiently so, like he had never even been alive.

But what was death, really? It held no meaning to him anymore. Maybe, it never really did.

On the other side of the portal Tubbo laid exhausted and tired, looking at the netherrack above.

Tommy was dead.

Tommy was a _ghost_ and couldn’t remember him. Couldn’t remember anything.

But, different from Ghostbur, it hadn’t mellowed him out, hadn’t calmed him, or made him any happier.

It made him angry, angrier than Tubbo had ever seen him. How mad was he then, before he died? What was he feeling when he jumped?

Tubbo didn’t want to imagine anymore, didn’t want to keep thinking about what he had done.

Instead, he slowly and painstakingly got up and walked back to his home. To what had been _their_ home. He needed to tell people about this.

Oh god what would Phil say? Another son dead and turned ghost, not even moving on to the afterlife. His _youngest son._

Ranboo would be distraught as well. He had been close with Tommy when Tubbo couldn’t be. God, fuck, it was all his fault too. He hoped Ranboo wouldn’t leave him. Wouldn’t blame him if he did, but Tubbo needed someone.

And Tommy wasn’t there for him anymore.

Never could be again.

In L’manburg the night was quiet, as most nights were. At least it had been. This night was different from most nights.

It was filled with the sorrow of an entire nation and beyond in mourning, filled with a father’s cries, as he lost another one of his children to the cruelties of this world, filled with a friends silent weeps as he had tried his best but now knew he hadn’t been enough, filled with the guilt of another half, now left broken and without his counterpart, never to be whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The basic idea is that Tommy can't remember anything as a ghost, only feels vague emotions towards people, and when he does it's only bits and pieces and mostly bad memories, unlike Ghostbur who only remembers the good.  
> Because listen, ehy choose between VillainInnit or GhostInnit when you can have both?   
> And doesn't it hurt more if Tommy has no idea why he wants to destroy everything so bad?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But then he remembers. It isn’t often he recalls previous events, and it hurts when he does. He cowers in the snow, head held between his hands, a smooth voice whispers to him, purrs its words reassuringly, soft like blue but bright like green.

Blue is meant to heal people.

Ghostbur held onto this knowledge in the worst of times. In the times he remembered too much. In the times his Alive counterparts’ actions caught up with him. In the times he’d find himself surrounded by fire and explosions, and the desperate yelling of a father who had neglected his middle child.

Dead him never blamed Philza. Maybe he should have, but Ghostbur held no memories of these things before and after they happen. The blue takes it all away. Blue heals people.

He liked to give blue to people, the members of the SMP were always gloomy, they rarely had a good day, and it made Ghostbur sad to see them that way. He cared for them, or at least he thinks he does, he’s never sure, some faces still have no names and others refuse to even look his way. He doesn’t mind, he knew Alivebur had hurt them, but he also knew Alivebur had cared for them, even until the end. If he hadn’t Ghostbur wouldn’t have woken up crying.

Sometimes he wonders what Alive him would think if he looked upon his nation now. He then remembers that it doesn’t matter. Alive him is dead and won’t come back. Probably doesn’t want to, either. That, he does not forget.

L’manburg overall was doing well, he supposed. It had been fully rebuilt, above the ruins of its older self, above the caverns Alivebur had left behind. No obsidian walls stood anymore either, completely taken down, leaving L’manburg open to everyone.

He often thinks it weird that only two people seem to still live there then. Only Ranboo and Tubbo remained.

They needed a lot of blue.

Dream had taken Tommy away, which was strange. Tommy was as big a source of happiness to people as he was a source of trouble, but from what he understood the good outweighed the bad. Tubbo was proof of that. Why would Dream take him away?

Tubbo was a good president, although Ghostbur questioned Alivebur’s decision to leave a child in charge of a country, but he also didn’t remember it happening, so he doesn’t voice it. Tubbo did his best, that much he could tell, rebuild the nation from its ashes and made it flourish.

He thought the young president would be proud at what he had accomplished, but it seemed more like each day that passed he needed more blue. Ghostbur felt too many regrets swirling in the child’s head.

Ranboo wasn’t better off, the kid was a bundle of anxiety as is, but being involved in Tommy’s leave and not even remembering half of it made it all so much worse.

Ghostbur could relate.

Tommy had needed the most blue that day and ever since. Ghostbur was quickly running out. The blond missed his counterpart, his partner in crime, he missed a lot of the people, and Ghostbur had tried to comfort him beyond just giving him blue. But the cold arms of a deceased brother don’t replace the loving embrace of a best friend.

Ghostbur decided he didn’t like Dream that day. He tried to remember that, at least.

It was difficult to help someone when they resented you for something you didn’t do. Or for something a different you did. People had a hard time differentiating. Rarely was anyone kind to him, saw Alivebur in his eyes, in his voice, associated him with someone he couldn’t remember being. Ghostbur didn’t mind, and if he did or ever had, the blue took that feeling with it when it burned. It was reliable like that.

The only person to be consistently kind to him and to never hold him to the standard of a person he wasn’t, was Technoblade.

Ghostbur really liked Technoblade, and he knew Alivebur did too, because he remembered part of their childhood together, remembered the play fighting, remembered the jokes, remembered sitting under the night sky with hot chocolate, telling stories.

Alivebur was happy then.

A lot of Alivebur’s happy memories were from his childhood. He remembers Techno, yeah, but sometimes he remembers Tommy even clearer.

And he knew they had been the happiest together, all three of them. It made him even sadder to see them all torn apart.

Tommy was furious with Techno for something he refused to explain, something Ghostbur should know, and, as nice as Tommy tries to be, he recognizes the resentment in his voice when he says it doesn’t matter, when he calls him Wilbur, when he wears Alivebur’s coat like armor to defend him from the horrors that lurk right outside his tent.

Ghostbur isn’t sure what made Tommy so bitter and resentful. He never used to be like this, even when Philza left them alone for weeks on end, forgetting their birthdays, favoring adventure over his own children, he’d still forgive him, quick to dismiss it no matter how many times it happened.

Tommy doesn’t forgive anymore.

Ghostbur thinks Dreams constant hovering over the kid doesn’t help.

Technoblade on the other hand was never one to relent, but loyal to a fault, taking care of those he saw as part of his pack, ready to tear down the world at a moments notice for them. The Blood God was a vengeful one, never took betrayal lightly, but Ghostbur was convinced he’d drop this grudge if he knew what Dream was doing to their brother.

If only he could remember these things when talking to Techno.

The blue takes important things too, sometimes.

And when he wakes up between trees and layers of snow, he thinks this may be one of those times.

He isn’t sure how he got here. He was somewhere close to Techno’s hut, but he isn’t sure why or how he got here. This isn’t alarming in and of itself, time sometimes does this thing, where it completely melts away and stops existing for a while and takes Ghostbur with it.

Time is a weird concept; he doesn’t understand why people value it so much when it only inconveniences them.

But then he remembers. It isn’t often he recalls previous events, and it hurts when he does. He cowers in the snow, head held between his hands, a smooth voice whispers to him, purrs its words reassuringly, soft like blue but bright like green.

_“I’ll take care of Tommy. I promise! Take a break Ghostbur, leave for a while.”_

And Ghostbur _does_ because the voice may not be blue, but it makes him tired, it makes him forget and he fades and he leaves, leaves Tommy and Ghostbur _remembers_ now, and it hurts and he doesn’t want to, he reaches for Blue but-

He had run out.

His head snaps up as he realizes, realizes what he had done, realizes that Dream was _bad_ , and he had left him with his baby brother, and Ghostbur feels guilt like he never has, so he hurries, knows he has to get back to Tommy before the pit in his stomach swallows him whole.

He has half the mind to go to Technoblade first, and he’s sure he can convince him to come with him because now he remembers, and his brain is no longer fuzzy, and Techno will listen.

The Blade himself was taking care of his horse, Carl, the one the voices liked so much to the point they would fill his head with happy messages, and despite his grumpy replies he never actually minded, since sometimes their happiness became his too.

And he needed all the reassurance he could get. Any distraction was good now or he would storm into the lands of the SMP any second, his worry making him sick.

Phil had left for L’manburg a few days ago, had said he needed to get some supplies he had stocked there. Techno had let him go on his own, Phil could take care of himself if it came down to it, had a reputation just as dark as Techno’s, and a title much more frightening even if people seemed to dismiss it far too often.

He had expected Phil to be back the same day.

It’s been three.

Realistically Techno knew he was being overdramatic. But he had already lost two brothers to the government, one died for his mistakes and the other exiled by the same people he had severed his bond with Techno over.

His family was a sad sight, broken and shattered, but at least he had Phil and he refused to let him go too.

Phil knew this, despite Techno never having to say it, and tried his best to calm him and not leave for too long amounts of time.

Technoblade was nervous, maybe slightly skittish and the voices noticed it and became anxious as well. The constant reverb and echo in his head doing nothing to soothe his own fears.

Taking care of Carl calmed all of them.

However, Ghostbur flying towards him at high speeds, yelling his name out of the top of his lungs destroyed that almost immediately.

“TECHNOBLADE!” Ghostbur stopped short in front of him, Techno almost stumbled backwards, but the blade doesn’t stumble, instead he raised an eyebrow.

“Heyyyy Ghostbur?” Techno was still as awkward as ever, “s’ everythin good with you, or…?”

“Techno, please you have to come help, we need to hurry something’s, wrong, I- I did something wrong, I shouldn’t have left him- I LEFT him Techno, with Dream, but- but I didn’t- I couldn’t remember and I didn’t know and I should’ve remembered, Dream’s bad, he’s dangerous and I FORGOT- I- he needs our help Techno-“

Ghostbur was rambling, Techno couldn’t understand a damn thing, but his distress grew quickly because not only was Ghostbur rambling, he was speaking like Wilbur.

The softness had vanished from his voice, he sounded normal, sounded alive, and Techno knew it was bad because this was not Ghostbur, it was Wilbur.

He gripped his brother by the shoulders, trying to steady him, to get one clear word out of him, “Wil- Ghostbur hey, calm down a sec, who needs our help?”

Wilbur looked at him, eyes unfocused. “Tommy. Tommy is in danger Techno; Dream is bad, and I left him alone.”

The voices flared to life with the red-hot anger of a thousand suns. Their cries burned Technoblades insides along with his own fury.

No one hurt his family, and despite the animosity between him and Tommy, despite the betrayal and the distrust, he knew his brother was suffering in exile, and if it was Dream who tortured him, the green bitch would have to pay that toll in blood.


End file.
